What Lingers Still
by Neko-chan -Silvered Tongue
Summary: He watches with that eerie, ambiguous gaze of his; he watches, he waits, he analyzes... and he knows. Subtle Sebastian/Ciel. Takes place during episode three of the anime, chapter two of the manga.


_**What Lingers Still  
**_By: Neko-chan

_Disclaimer:_ Don't own it, don't claim to, not making any profit off of it. Please don't sue. ;o;

_Introduction:_ He watches with that eerie, ambiguous gaze of his; he watches, he waits, he analyzes... and he knows. Subtle Sebastian/Ciel. Takes place during episode three of the anime (chapter two of the manga).

_Author's Notes:_ All right. I admit it--I am absolutely, totally, completely, 100% hooked on Kuroshitsuji. D: Good for readers, I suppose, but bad for me; I haven't been hooked on an anime series since Yuugiou... and that was four years ago. So, um. Time to spread my fanfiction wings and take flight once again? -facepalms- Anyway, second ficlet for the fandom. Hope you enjoy~

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**What Lingers Still**

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The violin playing was divine.

Ciel knew it when his lips curled up in a coolly distant smile, lips parting slightly, his expression kind--an emotion that he did not necessarily _feel_. He knew that his eyes were soft, gentle; Lady Elizabeth's hand fit snugly in his own, her fingers wrapped (perhaps) a bit too tightly around his own. Looking at it analytically, however, Ciel could understand that, despite the smile on her face and the fact that her tears had stopped, she was still afraid of his anger.

(Perhaps.)

She had reason to be.

With her fingers curled so tight, so tight around his own, the absence of a ring that was-not-there became achingly painful. There was no snug band, no firm resistance when his index finger pushed against his thumb. The symbol that marked him as he was, the symbol that showed the world that Ciel had every right in being _who_ he was--was no longer there. Despite all of his blustering and grand-standing, Ciel was fully aware that he had lost a little part of himself when he had tossed the Phantomhive ring out the window.

"_I_ am the head of the Phantomhive family."

Words.

Just words.

Words were meaningless without evidence to further opinions, evidence that was needed to demonstrate that the words were, in fact, truth and not some idle claim. The ring had been the symbol for this particular family: his grandfather, his father, and now he had worn the ring as a symbol of their status, the large gem heavy on their fingers, reminding them of their duties to royalty, country, and people. The symbol was now gone, however, and--without it--Ciel's words were just that: Words.

The fear had always been so carefully hidden away. Fear of the past (home burning bright against a blood-red sky as the entire concept of 'family' blurred into nothingness), fear of the present (juggling so many daggers, quickly moving one from hand to hand to hand, never quite certain when fingers would fumble and the blade would bite), fear of the future (a promise broken and a return to the past). The fear had been hidden oh-so carefully because, despite the symbol's influence in his immediate life, it was still a symbol that had been strong enough to stand through generations of Phantomhives. When things were difficult and Ciel--quietly, to himself--wondered if he could continue the knife's-edge juggling, the strength of the symbol surged and the young boy knew that there was something that he could always rely on.

(For the future, a promise that _might_ not be kept because _everyone_ always lied.)

But there was terror now, a slowly encroaching terror that lay beneath the surface.

With his claim--a claim now, nothing more--Ciel had tossed away that strength, denied himself that comfort (despite the screams that echoed within the cool cuts of the gem), and decided to finally stand on his two feet. A contract made with a devil, the appearance of power--

--but power was always shifting and Ciel knew that, in a moment of frustration and anguish (the memories beat at him with raven-dark wings and the only thought that the lonely boy could think was that now another thing was broken beyond repair, shattered to pieces like his family), he had tossed that _symbol_ of power away.

The screams echoed and echoed in his mind at night, but Ciel had always clung tightly to the ring because it was the only thing that was able to remind him of what 'home' and 'family' was supposed to be. The ring was a symbol. The symbol was for the Phantomhives. And the Phantomhives were supposed to be 'family.'

With one brief flash of temper, in a need to assert himself, Ciel had tossed away that 'family.'

He was completely, utterly alone.

Elizabeth beamed up at him, her fingers slowly starting to relax in their grip around his own; finally beginning to conclude that Ciel had truly forgiven her, the girl laughed brightly as the boy twirled her about the room. Her dance steps were impeccable, the perfect fiancee for a high-ranking noble. Would one day (perhaps) be an equally perfect mother.

As the violin continued to play, Ciel ignored the breaking of his heart.

--

Sunset had passed ages ago. Grell had taken Lady Elizabeth home and Ciel didn't bother to watch the carriage drive away from the estate, instead standing impassively as Sebastian readied him for bed. The look in the boy's eyes was withdrawn, and he spent most of his time glancing off to the side--not meeting the butler's glances, as he was usually wont to do.

The butler said something and Ciel responded automatically, the bantering between the two routine. Nothing had changed, but... in an absent gesture formed from hand, the boy's fingers brushed over his thumb to reassure himself in the touch of the Phantomhive ring.

And it wasn't there.

The anguish flared, pain settling in his chest for a moment--_what was lost could never be found again_--and Ciel wasn't completely successful in hiding the soft sound of hurt that slipped past his lips. A comment from Sebastian, and then the boy's brows furrowed as he continued looking off to the side. It _hurt_, the reminder that the ring would never come back, but it was a hurt that Ciel needed to learn to live with, just as he had eventually learned to live without his mother and father. _He_ was now the head of the Phantomhive family, and such behavior should not be displayed. 'What was lost could never be found again;' it was a mantra that Ciel repeated beneath his breath, if only to ignore the shimmering before his eyes that were _not_ tears that would _not_ fall.

Sebastian touched him then, and Ciel could feel the warmth of his touch through the impersonal white gloves that were so necessary to his costume. However, suddenly, a cool weight interrupted that touch--a familiar weight that _had_ been lost.

"As the Phantomhive butler, what would I do if I couldn't even achieve something like this?"

He started in surprise, looking up from the ring that _shouldn't_ have been there, the ring that Ciel had been prepared never to see again, to meet the uncharacteristically serious eyes of the demon that was contracted to him.

And Sebastian _knew_.

It didn't matter how hard Ciel hid the emotions away, how thoroughly he buried his reactions. No amount of pretending would matter because Sebastian _knew_ and Sebastian _saw_. Ciel could play coy all he wanted, but this demon who twisted words and only patiently waited so that he could take his soul--this demon knew and understood him better than anyone else. _Sebastian knew_.

Knew him inside and out, and there wasn't any more point in deception because the demon had seen right through his charade.

It was a terrifying thought: Sebastian knew: knew what the ring meant to him, knew the lie that his claim had been, knew the physical sense of loss that Ciel felt as the ring left his fingers to sail through the air in a graceful arc. Sebastian knew, understood--and, without a word from the boy, had given that bit of himself back.

Ciel could not lie because any lie would be brushed aside like it was nothing.

"This ring is meant to be worn on your finger."

Ciel tucked his thumb against the palm of his hand, curling his fingers over it; tucking the ring securely away, the boy clung:

_Past_, the ring and _everything_ that it represented.  
_Present_, the neutral tones of the wallpaper in the estate's master suite.  
_Future_, the warm fingers that still held his own as an umber gaze watched him enigmatically.

Ciel could not lie.

"Please take care of it."

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~Owari~  
::Fin::


End file.
